


I will follow you into the dark

by quittersneverwin



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Madness, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quittersneverwin/pseuds/quittersneverwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire survives but he soon realises that, even with the help of his friend, Marius, he can't cope very well without Enjolras</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will follow you into the dark

He climbed the stairs in a daze. His head was spinning and his lungs hurt with fear. He could see the men standing around with their guns. And he could see him. Then, for the first time, Grantaire took control of something in his life. He strode forward, and stretched out his arm. His voice sounded bold to his ear which was strange given how hollow he felt inside. Luckily, he saw the feeling in his gut reflected in the eyes of the man in front of him. There was determination there, as well as acceptance but, most of all, mind-numbing fear. He twined their fingers together carefully, treasuring the twitch of the blonde’s lips, and, as one, they turned to face the guns.

The pain didn’t hit him immediately but the force sent Grantaire down until he could feel himself hitting the floor. He could hear his wet, rasping breath coming in short, shallow gasps; he could taste blood in his mouth; he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. These sensations were all pushed aside once he realised that his last anchor on life, his one chance at redemption was slowly slipping from his grip. As his hand hit the floor he knew he would never have the strength to raise it again. Instead, he gazed up at the bowed head above him and, as the pain swept over him and he hurtled towards unconsciousness, he felt tears land like raindrops on his cheeks.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The doctors would never be able to explain how he had survived. It was almost miraculous that none of the major organs had been hit, that he had not bled out excessively, or that his body had not given up on him. All Grantaire knew was that he wished it had.

It was during one of Marius’ many visits to him in the hospital than Grantaire realised they no longer had anything to say to one another. He plucked awkwardly at the blanket and pretended not to notice how red his friend’s - although he debated whether or not that word applied any more - eyes were as they peered into some thick novel.

Grantaire himself was still too numb for the tears. He spent all his time in the hospital - physically he was full recovered but the nurse didn’t trust him not to go home and find comfort with a large bottle and sharp object- staring at the wall or pretending to read. Anything to not think.

Marius glanced up from the book he had cradled in his lap and, once again tried to start a conversation about some obscure poet mentioned in the book. Despite the fact that the artist stubbornly ignored him, the lecture continued until Marius said how much he thought Jehan would love his work. His voice cracked and he bit his lip when he noticed that he had used the present tense. Tears began to hit the page and the silence descended on the large room again. Glancing over, pity stirred in Grantaire’s stomach. He wished that he had the energy to comfort the boy, to plaster a smile on his face and tell bad jokes. Just to pretend that none of this had happened. But it had and that truth so real that every time he opened his mouth he was afraid that he would simply start screaming and that he wouldn’t be able to stop. He would scream for his friends, for himself, and for all that he had lost. He hadn’t eaten or talked in days. He may not have been much of a person before but now he wasn’t even really human. He was simply alive. And, for that reason, he closed his eyes, let his head fall back on the soft pillows, and let the sound of grief follow him into sleep.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Somewhere along the way he had picked up a bottle of something extremely alcoholic. He clutched it to his chest as his eyes raked the streets manically. He feel were cold and sore but he didn’t have time to work out why. He couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not till he had found him.

The world faded slowly into darkness around him as Grantaire stumbled along in the cold. Finally, out the corner of his eye, he saw it, under a street lamp, the red coat. He raised his head and the figure mirrored him. Grantaire felt his feet carrying him forwards and he felt light headed as he drew close. Strong hands under his elbows kept him from falling. He was lost once again in the perfect face in front of him.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Having not been used in days his voice was barely above a whisper but Enjolras simply smiled in reply. He bent his head into the mass of curls and murmured “I will always find you.” The dam that Grantaire had built inside himself finally crumbled at these words and he buried his face into the bright red of the jacket as he felt hot, salty tears stream down his face. He had no idea how long they stood there, all his concentration was on the heat seeping through his friend’s clothes, on the hand tugging out the tangles in his hair, on the other hand idly stroking his back.

Eventually, Enjolras pulled him away from his shoulder. “Grantaire,” their eyes locked, “you need to stop crying.” And, just like that, he found that he could. “You have something to tell me.” The statement that should have been a question took Grantaire by surprise. Of course, it was correct. It was what he had realised in what should have been his final moment. He had seen that, in drinking, he wasn’t so much as forgetting life, as he was avoiding it. He had one simple truth around which his whole life was forced to revolve and this one reality was so fragile that he was afraid that, if he paid too much attention to it, if he focused on it too clearly, his whole world would crash down around his ears. Therefore, he drank solidly to keep things out of focus. However, he had overdone it. His one simple truth, his life, had then gone unlived. This life that he had only started to live seconds before it was once again ripped away from him. This was what he needed to say. 

“I love you.” And his voice clearly conveyed the urgency that was sweeping through him. He loved Enjolras, for he was his rock. Without him he had become a creature, void of life and energy that he scarcely had in the first place. The reason he had never said those three stupid words before was because he could not bear the idea, the possibility that he could be rejected. Then, when the corners of Enjolras’ lips tilted and he stroked his face calmly, comfort flooded his drink-soaked brain. “I adore you.” As soon as these words had left his mouth, the perfect man in front of him began to fade. Relief was replaced by dread as Grantaire realised he was, once again, going to have to live in a world without his truth. He was going to have to, having now being given this reassurance that he was, or at least had been, cherished by at least one other human being on this god-forsaken planet, continue to exist after he had had that creature, that wonderful, astonishing creature, taken away from him again. “You can’t go.” The tears began to rise up in his throat again. “You can’t leave me here on my own.” He clutched at the jacket and a thought flew into his head. Grantaire ran to the edge of the bridge that he hadn’t even realised he was standing on. He leant over the barrier and gazed into the hungry water below. 

“Are you sure?” He hadn’t even heard Enjolras approach behind him but, then again, he didn’t care because he was once again full and bright and real. He scrambled over the rail and nodded mutely. Carefully, lovingly, Enjolras wrapped the red flag, his badge of freedom, around Grantaire’s thin shoulders and placed his chin on his shoulder. “You’re going to love it there. The colours are so bright even I feel I could paint them, those who were poor now frolic in the streets, and we are all so free.” Enjolras’ voice was so full of hope and passion that Grantaire felt his heart ache for the life he had missed. 

“I guess I’ll see you there then.” He sighed and, without turning around, he let himself drop into the abyss below.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

If you had been walking the streets of Paris in the right place at the right time you might have seen an odd sight. A man, who you may have recognised from the group of students who often used to frequent the local café, shuffled, barefoot and clutching a bottle, along the cold alleys. When he reached a bridge he stopped for sometime. He appeared to be crying and talking to himself. Then in one final act of desperate madness, he hurried to the edge and cast himself into the water. This was the man who people often saw nursing either a bottle or a hang over. This was the man who people saw join his friends on the barricade. This was the man who had survived. This was the one man who hadn’t wanted to.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first real fic so if you enjoyed it or have anything to say please let me know thank you :D


End file.
